


Mistletoe

by Saranghae



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship, Kissing, M/M, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 18:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saranghae/pseuds/Saranghae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A compilation of Assassin kisses</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Parkour Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NoveraNoam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoveraNoam/gifts).



> This is a Christmas present for Rowan, seeing as she is the only person who can get me to write any more oops. I realize it is supremely late, but oh well. One kiss scene for your 8 favourite pairings from the main games/the ones I know anything about. Some will be substantially longer than others, \o/ Happy Holidays y’all.
> 
> Characters and Pairings will be added as chapters are posted

Malik hadn’t run in so long. It had been years, even, since he’d climbed over rooftops and swung from poles. He had lost the confidence for it. His balance was still off; despite the years he’d had to adapt to his new situation.  
  
It was a lot harder to climb buildings with only one arm.  
  
He shouldn’t have been able to do anything that he used to. He had stopped being an assassin on active duty the moment he lost his arm. He’d lost much more than just a body part that day and he hadn’t had the willpower to get back out there and _try_.  
  
It surprised him, then, that he had fallen so naturally back into it. It took a little more effort to get to the rooftops but it was almost as if his mind knew how to compensate for it. He could see the easiest paths to the top—ways that he wouldn’t need both hands.  
  
He closed his eyes as he let himself breathe in the dry desert air, oddly sweet this time of year.  
  
The sound of footsteps behind him broke him from his reprieve. He opened his eyes, turning his head to the side only enough so he could see who had walked up behind him. He tried to fight the onslaught of emotions that travelled through him as his eyes landed on Altair, watching him walk slowly over. He settled his mouth into a scowl before turning to face the assassin.  
  
“Safety and Peace, Malik.”  
  
Malik’s response was to sigh and roll his eyes, not even deeming to respond as he jumped from the roof and landed on one of the flag poles jutting from the side of the building. He crouched a moment, getting his balance before he looked for his next destination. He had nothing to say to Altair at that moment that would not end with one of them getting into trouble.  
  
He looked to his left as someone landed on the pole beside his. He let his teeth clack together audibly and didn’t withhold the glare he sent Altair’s way.  
  
“What, exactly, is it that you require at this time. I have no mission for you. Can’t you find something more interesting to do with your time than bothering me?”  
  
Altair had the gull to laugh at that, letting his head tip back as his light and happy laughter filled the night air. Malik swallowed back the emotions he’d spent years holding back.  
  
“You say that like I need an excuse to want to be in your presence,” Altair said, his head tipped to the side and his smile bright in the moonlight.  
  
Malik scoffed and looked away. It was easy to ignore his feelings when Altair was being an ass. Which was almost all the time. “Well, I do.”  
  
Altair hummed softly instead of laughing this time, but the amusement in his eyes was almost as bad.  
  
Malik knew his cheeks were flushed and he only hoped the dark lighting and the colour of his skin would be enough to hide the blush from the other’s eyes.  
  
There was no response to the way Altair was watching him, nothing he could say that would remove the drowning feeling that was currently clawing its way up Malik’s throat.  
  
He jumped for the flag pole on the building across from him. He wrapped his fingers around it, gripping it tightly. But he hadn’t planned for the slick wet of his palm, the nervous sweat causing him to slip.  
  
He braced himself for impact, knowing the ground was a far way off and it would hurt more than he could prepare his body for. He closed his eyes to the world, waiting for the sickening crunch of his body hitting the ground.  
  
It never came.  
  
He opened his eyes, stared down at the ground still far below him. He trained his eyes upward at the grinning idiot, hanging from one hand on the pole he’d just fallen from, his other hand wrapped tightly around Malik’s wrist.  
  
Malik scowled because he didn’t know what else to do and let Altair pull him up. Malik wrapped his hand around the pole once his hand was close enough and gripped it tightly, his fingers turning white around the edges from the effort. Despite the fact that he should have fallen again as his hand was now even more slick than it had been before, he stayed up. Altair had wrapped his arm around Malik’s waist, holding him close to the assassin’s chest.  
  
Malik looked pointedly over his shoulder. He did not look at Altair. He did not acknowledge the way his body fit perfectly against the other’s.  
  
They hung there, pressed against each other and gripping the pole with one hand each until Altair made a soft noise like the effort was becoming too much.  
  
“Put your arm and legs around me,” he said, the shiver that went down Malik’s spine making him go stiff. Malik wet his lips and fought the tiny thrills that travelled up from his gut caused by Altair’s strained words against his ear.  
  
He would have protested, normally, but the overwhelming urge to get out of this situation overruled self-preservation.  
  
He let his arm fall from the pole to wrap around Altair’s neck, his legs lifting up to wrap around his waist.  
  
It was not the most awkward thing Malik had ever had to do. It was, however, the most intimate thing he had ever done. And that fact that it was Altair made it _awful_.  
  
He felt Altair’s arm move away from his waist to grip the pole again. The assassin swung on the pole, gaining momentum for the oncoming jump. When he let go, Malik experienced the most bizarre sense of panic. Freefalling through the air wrapped around a man he was supposed to hate and couldn’t seem to wasn’t his idea of fun.  
  
They landed with a slight stumble on the rooftop closest to the flagpole. It had been a far drop but it was a distance Altair would normally have been able to manage without falling. Obviously, he hadn’t been able to compensate for the added weight at his front.  
  
Altair fell forward and caught himself on his hands and knees with a soft grunt of pain. Malik’s back hit the rooftop and he groaned as his arm and legs fell away from the man on top of him.  
  
Altair did not move so Malik refused to open his eyes. He simply lay there, letting the heat of Altair’s body pressed against his calm his nerves. They had survived, somehow, and yet Malik still felt like he was dying.  
  
There was a long time where he just lay there, breathing shallowly and trying to will Altair off of him.  
  
Altair shifted and Malik thought, finally. But Altair did not pull back or move away. He lowered himself to his elbows so his chest pressed against Malik’s.  
  
Malik felt fingers in his hair and he opened his eyes in time to Altair leaning in and letting his lips brush over Malik’s slightly parted ones.  
  
There was a moment when Malik’s brain couldn’t seem to understand what was happening. The moment passed very quickly. His hand shoved at Altair’s chest, pushing him back enough so that Altair’s lips parted from his and their noses brushed.  
  
“What…?” Malik’s question died on his lips as he stared wide eyed up at the man above him. Altair was looking at him with a mixture of emotions, many of which Malik could not describe (or refused to acknowledge, he wasn’t quite sure). What he did see, what he could describe, oh it was terrifying.  
  
The fear came only from the intense confusion that wrecked Malik’s whole body. He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat.  
  
Malik was confused. Not because Altair kissed him (no, that had become quite obvious from the mix of lust, intense desire and so many other things Malik didn’t have time to think too hard about), but because every fibre of his being was urging him to fist his hand in Altair’s robe and pull him down. The overwhelming urge to claim those perfectly shaped lips. The strange desire to run his tongue over the small scar. It was all so confusing because Malik did not _want this_. He had never wanted this, or anything like this but right now, with this infuriating man so warm over him, he wanted nothing more.  
  
Altair must have seen something in Malik’s eyes, or on his face, because the smile that pulled at his lips was breath-taking. Malik let out a soft, whimpered protest as Altair leaned back down once more, but he did not resist.  
  
Malik’s fingers wrapped gently around the back of Altair’s neck, holding him in place as his eyes fluttered closed and his lips parted under the assassin’s. The soft moan that pulled from him had Altair growling with want. Malik’s head was spinning.  
  
He had never been kissed like this before. He had never been kissed at all for that matter. The way Altair’s mouth pressed down over his, the way he forced his way past Malik’s slightly parted lips and pulled an endless string of moans—it was too much.  
  
Malik’s fingers tightened in Altair’s hair and pulled his head back. The assassin hissed in complaint but Malik ignored him. He licked his lips and crawled out from under the other, breathing heavily as he touched his mouth with the back of his hand.  
  
He stood on shaking legs and brushed off his robes. He stared down at Altair who was right where he’d left him, staring at Malik with that mixture of emotions he’d had earlier (although, the gut wrenching _lust_ was most apparent).  
  
“Go home, Novice,” Malik breathed, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth as if he could lick away the last remaining taste of Altair.  
  
Malik turned to go, walking toward the ladder that leaned against the side of the building; he did not trust himself to climb down any other way at the moment.  
  
“Goodnight Malik,” Altair said from behind him. And oh, the way Malik’s name slid off his tongue was so _raw_ and filthy Malik had to will his own legs from collapsing.


	2. Gravestone Kiss

It was bitter cold, the wind whistling past Conner’s ears as he walked silently through the snow. One hand held curled into a tight fist at his side, the other cradling the leather bound journal to his chest. It had been years since he’d been here; here, in this wide space filled with death and sadness.

It was too big—too big for Conner to feel comfortable. He couldn’t see the other side from the entrance; so much death.

The soft crunch of the snow under his boots was the only sound aside from the quiet twittering of birds in the treeline. He could see his destination by now. The rough grey stone was covered in a thin layer of snow. Someone had been by recently and wiped the grave clean.

He stopped in front of the gravestone and stared down at it with a blank face, unsure what expression he should be making. He knelt down, wiping his free hand over the lettering to uncover the words beneath the snow.

Haytham Kenway.

He let his hand press over the name, tracing the letters as if trying to memorize it—as if he could forget it. His eyes landed on the frosted yellow flowers at the bottom of the grave, wondering who had left them. He wondered if maybe he should have brought some. He wondered if his mother would have left any if she was still alive.

He sighed softly and crossed his legs as he sat down in the snow, ignoring the slight dampness and the cold creeping up his spine.

“I didn’t know you,” he said softly, whispering despite the fact that no one was around. “You let me believe you were an evil man. I said… awful things. I hated you because you were a Templar but you were more than just that. You were… good.”

Conner pushed a hand through his hair, releasing it from the tie. He let the black cloth fall into the snow and the tips of his hair fall into his eyes.

“I know it is useless to ask forgiveness now, it’s too late for that.”

He sighed again, looking off toward the woods, watching a young dear treading silently along the outer line of the trees.

“You knew you were going to die that day. You knew I would kill you. And yet you did nothing to stop it.” He snorted, shaking his head. “I cannot believe you. You could have told me anything that was written in this journal and I would have stopped—at least long enough to listen. You are a fool.”

He stood, brushing snow from his pants and staring down at the grave. His father’s grave. He was a man Conner had barely known and yet now he felt he knew him better than he even knew himself.

“You may have been a Templar and a complete bastard most of the time but that doesn’t mean you weren’t a good man. You tried… I just couldn’t see it.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of the grave stone, the dusted snow tickling his nose. He straightened, swallowing thickly around the sudden overwhelming urge to cry. He furiously forced it down.

“You were not a good father, but I was an even worse son. And for that… for that and so much more, I am sorry.”

He looked down at the journal in his hands, wondering if he should leave it in place of flowers—should he return it to his father when it had been left for him. His eyes shifted to the name on the stone and instinctively clutched the journal to his chest. His fingers grazed the neckless—the last thing he had from his mother. Perhaps having a part of him—having him close—would give him something he never got when Haytham Kenway was alive. Maybe this way, he might be able to feel he had a father.

He took a deep breath and set his shoulders.

“Goodbye, father.”

He turned from the gravestone and walked back out through the graveyard as snow started to fall, covering the name once more.


	3. Goodbye Kiss

The Pedestal glowed, the only source of light in the whole room. The pounding in Shaun’s ears was too loud to think around.

The stories that Juno and Minerva spun were equally horrifying. Stories of the world coming to an end. Shaun held his tongue, kept his voice from influencing Desmond’s decision. It was his to make. Of course it was, and yet… The thought of Desmond sacrificing himself for this horrid world was not something Shaun could see himself getting behind.

He listened to William trying to convince Desmond out of his decision. He heard Desmond telling them to leave. He heard it all, and yet he did not want to accept any of it.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, he let himself turn away, let himself drag his eyes away from the man who had gone from an annoyance to the most stable part of his life.

Shaun liked to believe he didn’t have any regrets. He used bitter humour and snide remarks to shield against people who might want to worm their way into his heart. And yet Desmond had walked into his life and reacted to his attitude in kind. A soft lilt of humour and a raised eyebrow to make Shaun rethink his view on the human race in general.

He stopped after two steps. In his life, he didn’t want regrets. He had done things he wasn’t proud of but he’d never cared enough to have regret. And yet this, something as simple as letting someone he called a friend sacrifice themselves to save the world, this was something he could not let happen. Not without doing something about the aching in his chest.

He turned, leaving William and Rebecca to head back to the entrance without him. He walked swiftly back to Desmond’s side and grabbed his arm before he could place his hand on the pedestal. He turned him around, ignoring the soft words of confusion and pressing his lips firmly to Desmond’s.

The assassin was still for a moment, stiff and unresponsive. Just as Shaun was about to turn, to walk away, he felt an arm snake around his back. The soft moan that escaped his mouth as he was crushed against Desmond’s chest made his cheeks flush. His eyes fell closed and his fingers slid into Desmond’s hair as he kissed him. Desmond kissed him in a way that made Shaun’s heart break. Their first and only kiss left a burning need in Shaun’s gut when they finally pulled apart for air.

Shaun opened his eyes. He let them meet Desmond’s. Shaun swallowed back the surge of emotion that flooded through him. Desmond was looking at him. He was _seeing_ him and for the first time in Shaun’s life he wished there was a way to change the future. He wished he could stop time and spend an eternity in Desmond’s arms because no one had ever, or would ever, look at him the way Desmond was looking at him right now.

But there was a world to save. There were things that were more important than his selfish desires. Desmond was brave. Desmond was a martyr. And there was nothing Shaun could do or say that would change his mind now.

He pulled away, let Desmond’s arms slip from around him and ignored the pained protest of every inch of his mind, body and soul.

“Don’t fuck this one up, Desmond,” he said, and even he could hear the way his voice broke. He turned, taking a deep shuddering breath, and walked swiftly for the exit. William was nowhere to be seen but Rebecca was waiting for him. She looked at him like she wanted to say something comforting but didn’t. Shaun was grateful for that, at least.


End file.
